ABSTRACT
Pilate' a believer with remarkably energetic affirmations. Very transient, if they exist, must be the moods in which Mr. Huxley rejoices in his betes noires,1 mechanical civilization, the vulgar pleasure-hunting of'the Good-Timer' or the slobber of the Talkie Palace. 'In the depths of the human soul', he remarks in one place, 'lies something which we rational ize as a demand for justice.' What a shamefaced psycho-analytical circumlocution for the plain statement that man has the sense of justice! Can the sceptic, and particularly the moralizing sceptic like Mr. Huxley, afford to doubt the ultimate human values and truths that alone give a basis to his critical assertions? They remain ineradicable, 'do what you will'.
